


Deux Décimales Zéro

by TheAceApples



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bilingual Tucker, Gen, and not in the way that you think!, me: looks at title. looks at summary., okay in exactly the way that you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 02:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10548282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAceApples/pseuds/TheAceApples
Summary: Lopez Dos.0 doesn't speak Spanish, and neither does Tucker.(Originally written for the "Chorus Era" square of the 2017 RvB Bingo Wars.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually my third entry in the Bingo Wars (Blue Team for life!) but one is a not-sonnet that's less than 200 words and the other is a prompted Lucker fic that I don't want to put up on AO3 until I manage to expand the Fortune Favors 'verse past "Unfortunate Luck."
> 
> Enjoy!

_“¿Estás seguro de que no quieres ayuda? Esto parece una solución relativamente simple.”_

Tucker spun towards the Reds’ latest and greatest fuck-up in surprise. “Whoa! Is that Lopez?”

“Not… exactly,” Simmons hedged, then ‘lowered’ his voice into the world’s worst whisper. “This one isn’t very smart.”

 _“En serio, chicos. Estoy buscando en el problema. Yo puedo arreglarlo ahora,”_ Not-Lopez interjected, sounding a touch aggrieved, and Tucker perked up.

He hadn’t learned much Spanish back when Church was possessing the original Lopez, but he had recognized “serious” and “problem.” Which meant… “Okay, yeah, nope, we’re not doing this again,” he said decisively, deactivating his sword and walking up to Not-Lopez. “Hey, you—can you understand what we’re saying?”

“Nope, he’s tragically—”

Not-Lopez cut Sarge off mid-sentence with an easily understandable  _“Sí, señor.”_

Tucker ignored the Red’s sputtering and thought for a second.

“Tucker,” Wash said, sounding annoyed. “What are you doing?”

“Shush, man, I’m trying to think,” he replied distractedly. Yes-or-no questions, that was the key. Alright, he could do this. “Okay, Not-Lopez—”

“His name is Dos-Point-Oh,” Simmons supplied, probably because he was compulsively unable to _not_ be helpful. Or whatever the fuck he _thought_  being helpful was.

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Tucker muttered. “Okay, Dos-Point-Oh, do you speak any languages other than Spanish?”

 _“Sí, señor. Estoy programado con muchos idiomas diferentes,”_ Dos-Point-Oh immediately answered.  _“Wǒ huì shuō zhōngwén… YA mogu govorit’ po-russki… main hindee bol sakata hoon… Je peux parler français—”_

“Aha!” Tucker crowed victoriously. “That one! Switch to that one!”

The robot seemed to mull this over for a moment before he said,  _“Como usted ordene. Por favor, espere un momento…”_

Wash had already gone back to fixing the radio tower, but the rest of them waited with baited breath. A full ten seconds later, Dos-Point-Oh shook his head ever so slightly and then looked back at Tucker.

 _“Traduction terminée,”_ he said, still nearly inflectionless but now completely understandable. _“Puis-je vous aider?”_

Tucker gave a whoop of delight and punched the robot on the arm. “Hell _yes_ you can!” he said, grinning ear to ear.  _“Aidez nous s'il vous plaît. La radio est cassée. Peux-tu le réparer?”_

He winced at his own terrible fucking accent, but figured the robot could hardly judge. Dos-Point-Oh, on the other hand, straightened slightly and sounded so fucking _relieved_ that Tucker was worried about what might have happened if they had just kept him on the Spanish setting and ignored him. _“Bien sûr, maître. Je serais ravi de vous aider de toutes les façons possibles.”_

 _“Impressionnant!”_ Tucker said and gestured over to where he’d been fucking around a few minutes ago. When he turned back to the other guys, they were all staring at him in various states of surprise.

Wash eventually broke the silence. “You… can speak French?” he asked, sounding almost offensively confused. Really, he sounded like a kid who’d just been told that his hamster hadn’t _really_  gone to go live on a farm. Just, absolutely fucking floored.

Tucker crossed his arms and huffed. “Um, of fucking _course_ I can? I grew up a _lake_ away from Canada, _and_ girls fucking love it when a guy can speak French!” Even though they couldn’t see through his helmet, he waggled his eyebrows at Wash. “C’mon, man, it’s the _Language of Looooove_ …”

“I—honestly don’t know what to say to that. Just make sure the robot doesn’t break anything.”

Not a minute later, Dos-Point-Oh rushed back up to Tucker, nearly bouncing on his heels.  _“Mon ami, j'ai réparé la tour radio!”_

 _“Nice!”_ Tucker said, holding up a hand for a high-five. The robot didn’t seem to know what to do, so he reached over and guided his hand into a weak high-five.  _“Bon travail. Merci!_ Dudes, he says he fixed the tower already!”

Wash immediately spun back towards the radio and began to mayday for help. When they eventually got an answer, Tucker pounded on Dos-Point-Oh’s—or rather, Deux-Décimales-Zéro’s—back and waited for the good news to keep on coming.


End file.
